Tchotchke Fever

My tolerance for ickle doodads at home is moderate, at best. Certain narrow categories of things, yes, we all have our indulgences - but I don't play indiscriminate magpie. At least not for keeps.

It's a completely different story at work. I'm slowly decorating my cubicle with shiny junk - garbage in the most literal sense, since much of it comes from discarded outré floral arrangements in the dumpster next door. I have fake flowers tacked to my walls, and now a sparkly plastic snowflake dangling from the dragon tree. I work in an objectively pro-Hummel figurine crap trap.

In the beginning, I thought of it as dorm-style decor. There's a certain functional equivalency; the cubicle wall and the dorm door are both blank slates we use for practical purposes as well as projecting an image of ourselves to passers-by. But I generally found it more fun to leave shiny crap on other people's doors in college; keeping the junk in my own space represents some kind of fundamental shift.

Is it:
1. A healthy redirection of a socially awkward impulse?
2. An unhealthy redirection of creative energy back upon myself, which will eventually cause a narcissistic meltdown?
3. The only sensible response to the prevailing aesthetic of my workplace?
4. All or none of the above?